Just recently I was asked by a female friend as to the frequency of my masturbation. The question didn’t surprise me in the least and I answered it in the usual deadpan way that I answer such personal questions. I replied to her query in a effortless manner, at which point she nodded in acknowledgement repeating what I had said; not often. What we had been speaking of before hand was forgotten and in our minds a list of questions and theories about each others masturbation practices and rituals went on formulating but nothing more was voiced.
My thoughts prompted me to ponder over whether or not my friend masturbates and if not why not. Instead of asking to her directly I blanketed myself in the comfort of silence and invented the responses. In this virtual setting she told me that she didn’t masturbate due to the fact that she is currently in a long and stable relationship at which I retorted by saying that I was in a similar situation but still managed to indulge in the simple pleasure. She blankly said that she didn’t feel the need. I argued that it wasn’t so much a need as much as a balance check but accepted her point of view asking how often she masturbated before she found herself in her current situation. She expressed herself gracefully and clearly conveying the message of never. In reality she got up to pay the tab and we left the café.
We talked about a play that we just saw and about all its symbolisms and sexual innuendos. In continuation we discussed masturbation again without referring to ourselves. We conversed about male and female masturbation avoiding the technical aspects of matter and focused on what we thought were the social points of the issue. I described how prose about women sexual self-gratification is somehow always poetic purity even if it’s cut-throat and blunt like a Lucinda Williams song. She went on to say the exact opposite about the subject when it concerned men, that some how it was always the type of dirty filth that you’d find back alley porn.
I wasn’t offend by her comments, infact I wondered if all women had the same opinion and more importantly, would it be possible to write about masculine masturbation in such a way that all would see it as a beautiful piece of prose.
What do you think?
My thoughts prompted me to ponder over whether or not my friend masturbates and if not why not. Instead of asking to her directly I blanketed myself in the comfort of silence and invented the responses. In this virtual setting she told me that she didn’t masturbate due to the fact that she is currently in a long and stable relationship at which I retorted by saying that I was in a similar situation but still managed to indulge in the simple pleasure. She blankly said that she didn’t feel the need. I argued that it wasn’t so much a need as much as a balance check but accepted her point of view asking how often she masturbated before she found herself in her current situation. She expressed herself gracefully and clearly conveying the message of never. In reality she got up to pay the tab and we left the café.
We talked about a play that we just saw and about all its symbolisms and sexual innuendos. In continuation we discussed masturbation again without referring to ourselves. We conversed about male and female masturbation avoiding the technical aspects of matter and focused on what we thought were the social points of the issue. I described how prose about women sexual self-gratification is somehow always poetic purity even if it’s cut-throat and blunt like a Lucinda Williams song. She went on to say the exact opposite about the subject when it concerned men, that some how it was always the type of dirty filth that you’d find back alley porn.
I wasn’t offend by her comments, infact I wondered if all women had the same opinion and more importantly, would it be possible to write about masculine masturbation in such a way that all would see it as a beautiful piece of prose.
What do you think?
